


Broken Ruby

by It_is_Trash_Time_Kiddos



Category: Riverdale - Fandom
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Death, Cheryl really needs a hug y'all, Depression, F/F, F/M, Implied/References Suicide Attempt, Maybe - Freeform, Mentions of Drowning, Suicide Attempt, idk - Freeform, trigger warning, yo the serpents are angels tho? how dare northsiders hurt my babies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-24
Updated: 2018-05-24
Packaged: 2019-05-13 09:50:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14746557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/It_is_Trash_Time_Kiddos/pseuds/It_is_Trash_Time_Kiddos
Summary: Cheryl Blossom had numbered her days since the funeral; they became a tally in her mind, of how long she could cope in the filthy, bloodied town of Riverdale - a sick, torturous game she had unconsciously created in her mind. But now she was losing, and the river became evermore enticing.Except this time, she promised herself, she wouldn't fail.No, she would be with Jason soon, that much was certain - until a soft voice called across from the cobbled shore, “There a reason you’re walking across a frozen lake, Bombshell?”.





	Broken Ruby

**Author's Note:**

> 'Hi my name is Ebony Dark'ness Dementia Raven Way and I have long ebony black hair with purple streaks and red tips that reaches my mid-back and icy blue eyes like limpid tears [...]'  
> \- Ghandi

_On rare occasions, such as this, the rushing waters of Sweetwater River had calmed for the summer's day. The river banks became shallow, the water tearing away from the land to reveal flat cobbles like an enticing treat, ideal for skipping and tossing. ‘The flat ones are the best,’ a young boy said; hair on fire, adventure in his baby ocean eyes, excitement flowing through his every vein. He was so much like the river, his twin mused, as she tucked her legs beneath her flowery dress as she sat by his feet. ‘Perfect for skimming, you see? You throw it like a frisbee, and it glides across the water like a boat. Watch, Cher.’_

_The boy would bend his knees and load his ammunition, a look of concentration reserving his face as he fiddled with the stone in his hand. His sister watched with a bemused look on her own, anticipating the next wondrous skill he would exercise. He may have had the first breath of life mere minutes before her, but the little girl had always felt slower than her twin, left behind and undeveloped._

_With a tiny huff escaping his thin lips, the cobble was catapulted across the waters; a smile stretched across his pale face as it danced across the clear surface, painting tiny ripples across the scene before them. The girl was enthralled, much like someone who was watching a ballet dancer; with each spin, it drooled across the river as though it was its purpose– and whilst her brother’s attention was pulled away from the river and towards a cheering red-headed couple behind them, the girl continued to admire, entranced by how the rock sunk into the depths of the natural pool._

_She was envious – Cheryl was always envious: of her brother’s endless talent, of her parents’ applause, of the rock._

And now, it is winter; the river had gushed through the forest and froze, trapping trash, flat cobbles, and whatever unfortunate little soul beneath the ice. Its water was no longer glassy and fresh; it became corrupt, dirtied, like some blackened marsh. A foreign exhibit, known now only as the dumping ground for dead little boys, with fiery hair and adventurous ocean eyes.

‘ _One day, I want to go canoeing through the rapids, flailing through the waters like a salmon! Could you imagine, Cheryl? The palms of my hands would look like silly little prunes, and my eyes would sting wildly…do you think father would let me? I know mother is very protective but, I want to do so much with father – maybe someday, when I am grown like they are, I might have a boy that likes skimming stones too_.’ The extent of the world’s cruelty became apparent that day the police hauled his rotting body from the river.

She could do it now, walk onto that crystallised coffin and break the diamond poll; it was finally the opportune moment to be like that stone she once had been so envious of.  The girl grieved an unbelievable amount – perhaps, she thought, if enough tears were wept and prayers were murmured, that her brother would once more be at her bedroom door with two sets of wellies and a picnic basket, with that same jovial smile that simply became _Jason’s_. But it was all stolen from her – and now all she prays for, is the pain to stop. It never did however, the world spared her no mercy. Life simply became worse and worse, unbearable even.

She brought the simple black pea coat up to her chin and shivered; the red-head’s outfit had been deprived of colour and eccentricity today. It was ordinary, starved of her trademark crimson; only her hair waved brightly in the wind, but her fire raged no more – it was extinguished, its fumes rising into the sky, as did Jason’s in the crematorium. 

With a hesitant step, the ice began to chime its funeral song, as it shattered beautifully beneath her boot; it had been her sirens call.

Do you know what it is like to drown? It’s torture, unfortunately endured consciously as you struggle against the tide. It is instinct to hold your breath – but what happens when you run out of air? The body is wired to breathe eventually – and what is worse than sealing your lips shut like a tomb and suffocating, is breathing in the murky waters of the hateful world. But death, if accepted, can be peaceful – and that was enough to lure in a tired Cheryl Blossom.

‘ _To my mother,_

 _I am sorry I never met your expectations, that I never fulfilled the same achievements that my brother once had. You won’t need to worry yourself about that anymore. From the moment I was born, I always understood that I would never be like Jason – I think you did too. I am content with that now. I am sorry I wasn’t the daughter you wanted, I am sorry for everything I’ve done._ ’

Another step, and the river chimed another bell.

‘ _To my friends, what little of you there are,_

 _I am sorry for the trouble I caused you all. I have always known that I made things harder than they should’ve been – I embrace the sickly fact that the treatment I plagued you with was cruel, undeserved. Part of me had always resented the wasted possibility of a friendship. But you must understand, that you could never understand. For that, I am sorry. Know that I had loved you all, dearly and truly. I am sorry I had not been a friend_.’

The slabs of cold stone rattled in her pockets, aching her back, making her bony fingers tremble. Like a child tugging at the bottom her coat, the cobbles pulled her towards the ice - they were perfect for skimming.

“Hey,” A soft voice called from behind; the word had broken the silence, and a bird or two rustled the bush beside the bank. The ritual, now interrupted and imperfect, suddenly halted – whether it had been the delicacy of the voice or her nerves that froze her to the spot, Cheryl did not know, but an itch of curiosity and contempt allowed her attention to be reserved for a moment.

And Blossom’s heart had clawed its way up her throat, spasming wildly as her reddened eyes met tender ones, and recognition was triggered by the unmistakable streaks of pink.

Perhaps Cheryl should have written to her in her letter, too.

“There a reason you’re walking across a frozen lake, Bombshell?” Topaz mused, teetering on the lake’s edge. Her face betrayed her ignorance, however; it was soft and sincere, her brows furrowed and eyes saddened, and she smiled delicately – as though that was enough to break the girl. “Doesn’t look so stable, does it?”

Much like the ice beneath her boots, Cheryl too was shattering - into, what Toni saw, as beautiful ruby fragments; for others, those tiny gems were too clear, too small. It would go unnoticed when a precious stone would fall from the girl’s bravado – but Toni was attentive, Toni was caring; she followed the trail of red and found an invaluable ruby. Funny, how the notion was poetic – this was Cheryl Blossom, after all.

“No,” The girl standing atop death’s embrace said. “I suppose you’re right…” With a tense nod, she sported an unfamiliar smile. This wasn’t her; no snide comment or show of teeth or tongue that was laced with venom. The façade was pitifully obvious.

As Cheryl revelled in what she believed was Toni’s ignorance, she herself became ignorant; the girl began to list the many gods she knew in her head, began to trade in the many coins she threw into wells, because Toni didn’t know that Cheryl danced once upon a time with Sweetwater River.

But, oh, did Toni Topaz know. It became an almost guilty pleasure, to discover every ghosting legend and dark tale that glided, phantom like, through Riverdale; she would juice Jughead, like a lemon, for every sour drop of gossip and every riveting story. It became a sport to her whilst she fiddled with her camera, and he with his computer, to pass the boring days at Southside High.

‘ _Happily, Queen of the Buskers._ ’

It was like those words had triggered her obsession; Toni began to query Jughead about the popular red-head, and he, with a sigh, complied, assuming the information would never be needed – the two despised each other enough as it were.

‘ _What’s her deal_?’

‘ _Too much, unfortunately_.’

So, Toni was left with no choice but to play along with death’s game, sipping up Cheryl’s fake smile and returning it with her own soft one. Topaz had reached out her hand, desperately stretching her varnished fingers towards the girl. The call of the waters must be that much more delicious and enticing. Cheryl simply stared at the extended hand, dumbfounded at the comfort she was being shown; sometimes, actions speak louder than words. Not much more was needed, to make Cheryl’s bland lips tremble. She wondered if Toni’s hands were as soft as her smile; maybe the discovery of it would be enough, for now, to deter her from the icy grave.

“C’mon Bombshell, let’s go take a walk. There’s a patch of forest up here that’s the best place to snap some shots – I want to show you it. I think you might like it, a girl with your fondness of aesthetics. Come appreciate mine.”

The invitation revived sweet memories of Jason, and with them bitterness; to be aware of the similarities between the pink-haired girl and her brother, was painful. Cheryl bit her tongue, clutched the cobbles in her pockets, and began to tip-toe her way back to the banks; the ice no longer sang, as though the loss of her weight saddened it. The river wanted to be fed, but Toni Topaz was cruel to starve it.

**Author's Note:**

> 'if u flam it menz ur a prep or a posr!'  
> \- Dionysus


End file.
